


Ain't No Use (Crying Over Spilled Milk)

by RomanoffonamoR



Series: Marvel Cinematic Littleverse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Play, Bigs and littles are known, Gen, Little Maria Hill, Littleverse, Maria Hill needs a hug, Marvel Cinematic Littleverse, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanoffonamoR/pseuds/RomanoffonamoR
Summary: Maria Hill is a strong independent six year old who don't need no caretaker.Except she does. She really, really does.





	Ain't No Use (Crying Over Spilled Milk)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, this is my first fanfic in this fandom. I realize age play is a pretty niche topic and Maria Hill isn't as popular as other Marvel characters, but if you've found this and have read it I'd love to know what you think!

It was stupid.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

It was spilled milk. Actual spilled milk, not some dumb, figurative metaphor.

It was the remnants of her painstakingly prepared breakfast spilled across the linoleum floor, tendrils of milk stretching out like fingers from the rapidly growing puddle beneath her overturned bowl.

Cheerios were everywhere. The already soggy ones stayed relatively close, clumping together like mini icebergs in the growing sea of dairy at her feet. The formerly dry ones at the top of her bowl, however, were littered in all directions across the floor.

The mess stretched from beneath the fridge behind her all the way to dumb, figurative Egypt, aka the dining room connected to the kitchen.

It was stupid.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid Maria._

The first few tears to hit her cheeks were even _more_ stupid, but she was just as successful at stopping their onslaught as she was at carrying a bowl of cereal from the counter to the table without tripping over her own two feet.

_You’re so stupid Maria._

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!_

Even though closing her eyes never worked to stop the voice in her head from narrating her failures, she did so now, clenching them shut and pressing the pads of her fingers to the stretched skin of her eyelids.

She hoped if she pressed down hard enough the shapes that would soon begin dancing before her eyes would be able to distract her. Give her something to focus on so she wouldn’t do the _thing_.

The thing she so desperately more than anything in the whole wide world did _not_ want to do.

Despite her resolve her body let out a short, strangled cry, and she stamped her slippered foot as if it were irrefutable evidence of how badly she did _not_ want to do this.

Because it was all so stupid.

_You don’t cry over spilled milk, Maria!_

_Big girls don’t cry over anything!_

“No!” she protested irately, stamping her foot again and again, her hands now balled into fists and pressed to her temples as she raged at the mess she’d created and the feelings it had created inside her in turn.

“No! No! No!” She slapped her foot down in the sea of dairy, the pale yellow fur of her duck shaped slipper soaking up the milk like a sponge. Shifting her balance she brought down her other foot, crushing an iceberg this time and splattering milk every which way, including up her baggy pant leg.

She didn’t care she was making it worse. She didn’t care she was ruining her favorite slippers. She didn’t care about anything except making the feelings go away.

It didn’t work.

“Stupid! Stupid!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, kicking the upturned bowl across the floor and sending Cheerios even further into Africa. She also sent herself careening backwards as her sodden slipper lost its traction, dumping her unceremoniously on her rear end with an abrupt, undignified splat.

The kitchen was utterly silent and still.

A moment passed. Then two. Then three. And then the _thing_ happened.

It started out as a single breathy moan, but in seconds turned into full blown hysterical sobs. Collapsing onto her back she kicked her legs out whilst flailing her arms, wailing at the absolute top of her lungs as she threw the biggest, most outrageous tantrum she could muster.

She hated this. She hated every single minute of this, and wouldn’t stop until everyone in her building knew just how badly Maria Hill _hated_ being little.

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” she hollered as she rocked her body left and right, crushing any remaining cereal beneath her into an unrecognizable pulp. Her pajamas were soaked through with milk and clung unpleasantly to her limbs as she continued to thrash around in absolute anguish.

“Stu-u-upid…” She could barely get the words out now, her sobs interrupted by snotty, ragged, breathless, hiccups. After a few moments of almost choking on her own saliva she rolled onto her belly, tucking her knees up under her chest and pressing her forehead to the floor.

Cheerio mush coated her neck and hair; gooey disgusting particles which began sliding down her face and into her mouth and nose as she continued to cry. The milk was even worse, dripping further downward to pool amongst the tears still seeping from between her lashes. The mixture burned her eyes whenever she was stupid enough to blink them open.

It was stupid. All of it. Everything.

Being little was stupid.

Maria Hill was stupid.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

***

Coming to on her kitchen floor, Maria instantly felt that deep, familiar ache in her chest. The one that only served to remind her of how utterly pathetic she truly was. “You’re such an idiot, Maria,” she admonished herself, following the script she now knew by heart.

She uncurled her fists as she sat up, surveying the room for only a moment before hauling herself to her feet. Barely pausing to take stock in whether she was injured, she began peeling off her soggy clothing, dumping the garments as well as her slippers into the sink.

“This is what you get, Maria,” she spoke harshly but quietly to herself as she grabbed a roll of paper towels and a mop. “You think you’d learn. Even real children learn,” she tore pieces of paper towel angrily from the roll and dropped them to the floor, using her bare foot to press the wadding into and through the mess.

_Push it down. Push it out. You don’t have to do this to yourself._

“It’s going to fucking stink in here when I get back,” she lamented after a few minutes, having used up the last of the paper towels. She turned her focus now on the mop. “Can’t delay your mission Hill. Can’t show up late because you’re a fucking incompetent putz.”

It took longer than she’d have liked, but the kitchen eventually was clean and her ruined clothes bagged up and ready for the building’s garbage chute. If she’d had time she would have washed them, but she didn’t, and so they had to go.

_Shut it down Maria. Agent Hill doesn’t need fuzzy slippers._

_You don’t need fuzzy slippers_

_You don’t even like yellow._

“Fuck…” she clenched her eyes shut, rubbing at her forehead with the heel of her hands. She didn’t have time for this. She had to shower and get to the Triskelion. She had a mission. SHIELD was depending on her. Other agents were depending on her. She couldn’t have a freak out over a stupid pair of duck shaped footwear.

She couldn’t. She was Maria God Damn Fucking Hill.

She was 33 years old. She was an _adult_.

“Get your ass in the shower Hill,” she ordered herself, dropping her hands to her sides and straightening her back as resolve finally settled in. “You’ll feel better after you shower.”

She wouldn’t. She never did. But she’d pretend.

That was at least something Maria Hill was good at.

 

 

 


End file.
